It was a typical Friday evening when my 14-year-old son, Ben, came home looking defeated. Normally, he’d bounce through the door, proud and excited after a productive day. But this time, his shoulders were slumped, and he looked like he’d just lost a big game.

I was in the kitchen, preparing his favorite dinner—grilled chicken and mashed potatoes—when I noticed his gloomy expression. “Hey, bud, what’s wrong?” I called out. Ben, usually chatty, just sighed deeply and sank into the couch, avoiding eye contact.

“Come on, talk to me,” I urged. But he stayed silent, staring at the floor. Finally, he muttered, “He didn’t pay me.”

Confused, I pressed him for details. “What do you mean? Didn’t Mr. Peterson agree to pay you $50 each time you washed his car?” Ben nodded, frustration clouding his eyes. “Yeah, but today, after I washed his car for the fourth time this month, he said it wasn’t spotless and refused to pay me. He said I should’ve done a better job if I wanted my money.”

Hearing that made my blood boil. Mr. Peterson, our arrogant neighbor who paraded around with his shiny black Jeep, had convinced Ben to wash his car weekly. It had started innocently enough—a compliment on how well Ben cleaned our family car and an offer to pay him for washing his own.

At first, I thought it was a great opportunity for Ben to learn the value of hard work and responsibility. But now, it was clear that Mr. Peterson was just taking advantage of him. I could feel my fists clench as Ben recounted how he’d meticulously cleaned under the seats, polished the rims, and made sure the car sparkled, only to be told his efforts weren’t good enough.

“How much does he owe you in total?” I asked, trying to stay calm.

“Four washes, so $200,” Ben replied, looking defeated.

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Without a second thought, I pulled out my wallet and handed him the money. “Here you go, sweetheart. You earned this.”

“Mom, you don’t have to do that,” Ben protested. “It’s his responsibility to pay me.”

I smiled but shook my head. “You’re right. But don’t worry, I’m going to make sure Mr. Peterson learns a lesson he won’t forget.”

Ben looked at me with wide eyes, unsure of what I had planned. “But, Mom…”

“No ‘buts,’” I said, giving him a reassuring smile. “Trust me on this one. Now, let’s eat dinner and put this behind us.”

The next morning, I woke up with a plan. I peeked out the window and saw Mr. Peterson outside, polishing his beloved Jeep, dressed in his usual silk pajamas. I put on my best yoga pants and walked over with a cheerful smile.

“Good morning, Mr. Peterson!” I called out.

He turned, looking up with that smug grin of his. “Good morning, Irene. What brings you out so early?”

“Oh, nothing much,” I said casually. “I just wanted to check in about Ben’s payment for washing your car. He mentioned you weren’t happy with his work yesterday.”

Mr. Peterson straightened up, crossing his arms. “Yes, Irene, that’s correct. The car wasn’t spotless, so I didn’t feel obligated to pay him. He’s young; he needs to learn that the world doesn’t reward half-efforts.”

I could feel the anger bubbling up again, but I kept my tone light and friendly. “I see,” I said, nodding. “But Ben told me you agreed to pay him $50 for each wash, regardless of whether it was absolutely perfect. And wouldn’t you know it, he took pictures after every wash to show his grandfather.”

“Pictures?” Mr. Peterson’s smirk faded a bit.

“Yes,” I said, maintaining eye contact. “He’s proud of his work, so he sent pictures to his grandfather after each wash. They show a spotless car, inside and out.”

I let my words hang in the air before adding, “Now, I’d hate to take this further, but if you don’t pay Ben what he’s owed, I might need to discuss this breach of contract with my lawyer.”

Mr. Peterson’s confident demeanor cracked. “Look, Irene, there’s no need for that,” he stammered, glancing around nervously.

I gave him a tight smile. “Oh, I think there is. You took advantage of my son’s hard work, and I won’t let that slide. You can either pay him today, or I’ll make sure everyone in the neighborhood knows how you treat kids who work for you.”

Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as he hurriedly pulled out his wallet, counting out the cash. “Here’s your money,” he muttered, handing over $200 in crumpled bills.

“Thank you,” I said sweetly. “But let’s be clear—Ben won’t be washing your car again.”

When I got home, Ben was sitting on the couch, munching on cereal. His eyes widened when I handed him the cash. “You actually got him to pay up!” he exclaimed.

“Of course,” I said with a grin. “No one cheats my son and gets away with it. And now, if someone tries to pull a stunt like that again, you’ll know exactly how to handle it.”

Ben laughed and asked, “Does this mean I have to give you the $200 back?”

“No,” I said with a chuckle. “But I think you owe me a mother-son lunch date.”

“Deal, Mom,” he said, smiling from ear to ear.

Later that day, we were enjoying our lunch at a local café when Ben noticed a sign across the street: “Help Wanted.” He turned to me with a sparkle in his eyes. “What do you think, Mom? Should I apply for a weekend job there?”

I nodded, taking a bite of my burger. “Absolutely, go for it. But remember, if they try to pull a fast one on you, you know who to call.”

Ben grinned and gave me a thumbs-up. As we laughed and planned his next adventure, I couldn’t help but feel proud. My son had learned a valuable lesson about standing up for himself, and I was glad I could be there to back him up.